Inamorato
by Hito
Summary: Amy knows more than Colin thinks. Goes with 'Scenting the Rain'.


Disclaimer: None of this is mine. 

Author's Note: Follows 'Scenting the Rain'. There'll be one more. 

*

Amy thought — back when Colin was in the coma, the glass coffin, asleep behind a wall of thorns — that she would be the one to move on. She believed that she would, when he showed no signs of waking up, when she was adrift and hopeless, with nothing to salvage. She almost resigned herself to it. 

So it was an adjustment when he woke up. She was excited, distracted, but it took the better part of an hour to get her mind running on the right track. Longer than it should have. It's there now, though. Amy thinks she's handling things as well as can be expected, even though she wishes she were handling them differently. She wishes she were handling them successfully. 

Amy was devastated when Colin didn't remember her, because it was such a shock, something she had never even considered, too taken up with herself, her life, the changes occurring while Colin was static. 

She knew Colin was alive, clung to that desperately, but he didn't really seem to be living. It was like he was paused and when he started playing again she expected the tape to pick up where it left off. 

But humans don't work that way, and while Amy was regressing, back where she started, Colin was slipping away from her. 

She doesn't think he meant it to happen. He tried, she thinks, but when he didn't remember, when he had to start fresh, he just didn't — he didn't feel for her. She can't blame him for that, though she wants to. Amy needs somebody to blame, needs a reason, and she can't have either. 

But Colin loved her, once, and she sees no reason he shouldn't again. She hasn't given him up. Amy isn't stupid. She would prefer to have Colin back, have him whole, but if a facsimile of their relationship is all she can have, she wants it. 

She's working for it. It's not going well, but she keeps trying and wishes she were coping better. 

Amy sees Colin's blankness, sees what's left of him slowly drifting away. She pretends not to notice because she doesn't want to deal with it, doesn't know how to deal with it in a way that wouldn't end things. 

Amy can't stem the tide; she has to learn to let it pull her along. So she watches Colin, and wants him, and she watches him want Ephram. And she keeps quiet. 

Saying something would make it real, would make Colin have to do something about it. With things as they are, she can keep hoping. As long as she's still with Colin, she can pretend he's still with her. 

She can't stop thinking about it, though, even as she pretends there's nothing to know, and she wonders how far she can take this. She wonders if she would ignore it if they kissed, wish it away if they became lovers. She doesn't think she'd turn a blind eye forever, but it is a possibility. 

Amy knows nothing has happened between Colin and Ephram, but she knows Colin is moving on. It's just—if Colin truly doesn't remember her, if he hasn't fallen out of love with her, she doesn't understand a thing. 

Colin is looking for something, something new because everything is, she is. Something he can understand, and have, and know and feel for himself. Something he doesn't have to be instructed on. Someone he doesn't have to be instructed to care for. Amy is trying to be those things. She doesn't know why she's failing. 

She's here, just like she was then, and she doesn't know why things aren't the same. It should be easier now, because she knows how it goes, knows how they love each other, and they could skip all those awkward first steps, because she knows where they lead. 

But Colin's somewhere different, slipping away. She watches him with Ephram, sees that same expression, the one he used to wear around her. Not loving, not even lustful — assessing, like he's lining up a shot. 

Colin misses sometimes. And Amy doesn't know that much about Ephram, hasn't troubled to learn more since Colin's return. She thinks if Ephram ever cared about her he'd leave them alone. If he ever cared. 

Amy knows, now, that she never really cared about Ephram. He was just easy, there to fill a gap. He knows that, she thinks. And if he cared, he might not anymore. 

Because Ephram is with Colin more than she is, and it has nothing to do with her. That stings, wounds her pride, but not her heart, so it doesn't matter. What matters is why Ephram is with Colin. 

Amy doesn't think Ephram is interested in Colin. Knows that she has no basis for reaching this conclusion, but refuses to consider the alternative. 

Because Colin may want Ephram, may even be close to loving him, but Amy loves Colin, and that matters more to her. 

Amy loves Colin: she loves his eyes and his hair, and his jacket and the back under it, and she loves every smile he's ever given her. She loves him, and she'll love his uncertainty and his sadness and his anger, and whatever else he grows into. She will. That matters more. 

So Amy pretends not to see and keeps trying to win Colin's love again. Colin's moving on from nothing to something, and Amy's never thought of herself as nothing. 


End file.
